Walking Tall Against The Rain
by SquiggleDee
Summary: Though life is relatively peaceful, Mohinder is restless in New York, haunted by his powerful longing for the dark, enigmatic Sylar, whom everyone believes is in permanent hiding. But perhaps Sylar is closer than Mohinder can even dream...
1. Chapter 1 Stillness

**Chapter One**

**Stillness**

Mohinder sat with his cup of coffee warming his hands. His thoughts wandered for the umpteenth time from the worn papers and dusty lab equipment on his desk, so he looked out the window. It was a chilly, rainy night.

He thought of the one person he knew he couldn't have. He thought of the one person he knew he wasn't allowed to think about, wonder about… be drawn to.

Sylar.

The rain washed the city clean, and yet the powerful darkness invaded Mohinder's sharp and subtle mind every night… it was two, maybe three in the morning, and he thought again of Sylar posing as Zane Taylor, that sweet alluring man he'd met three years ago. He remembered that quiet thrill as Sylar brushed passed him, close enough to smell his warm, genuine scent covered thinly by anonymous cologne.

Mohinder's eyes closed slowly as he tried to remember that moment, in visceral detail, for the thousandth time, never drawing close enough to touch Sylar's hand, or feel the sweet roughness of the man's stubble against his own, his lips looked soft as well, welcoming, slightly parted…

But the fantasy was brutally interrupted by a harsh, commanding voice – _What do you think you are doing? He's a boy, Mohinder, what's the matter with you?! And the man's a killer, for God's sake! He was faking, playing with you, you and every other human being mean nothing to him! _That voice, stern, distant, was of Chandra Suresh, Mohinder's father, an echo of reason which overrode the hedonistic play in Mohinder's imagination…. The vision, Sylar's slightly parted lips, achingly close to his own… evaporated like the steam rising from the coffee mug into the chill night air.

That Sylar was never real, Mohinder told himself again, as he did every night, It was just a mask, a maniac pretending…

But can you fake chemistry?

"Psh, I should know that, being a doctor." Mohinder said to the coffee mug. His voice sounded strangely loud and rounded in the stillness of the lab. He was so tired of being alone. Maya had come and gone, a poor substitute for the hot, aching longing that had suddenly come to the surface as his physical strength increased a hundred fold. He remembered the incredible pain, and incredible thrill, of becoming physically powerful for the first time in his life. It had connected him to his body in a new, unprecedented way.

And his body, once awakened, yearned for one thing…

_Sylar_.

_Sylar_, it would sound out softly in the rushed thoughts of days in the lab. _Sylar_, it would chant in the slimy womb of Mohinder's scaly cocoon before the second eclipse set him free. _Sylar_, it would flamboyantly picture in dreams and flash in the middle of making love to Maya.

And after Maya moved on, and The Company captured Mohinder and took his abilities away by force… after months of not seeing the others, of comparative peace, in his sad New York apartment, Mohinder's mind would wander over a cup of coffee, and the rising steam would whisper, _Sylar…_

_***  
_

Little did Mohinder know that he wasn't the only one craving someone completely wrong.

***

The Company had taken everything over, taken away so many powers, and their threat was ever present. Staying hidden was the only thing keeping Sylar alive…. But there was something pulling him into the open, the bare naked sunlight, spotlight, slavery. He only wanted a taste…

But control of his urges was something he had to master to survive. He hadn't caused any trouble, not so much as stolen a pack of cigarettes, in months. He was living in the basement of an abandoned house in a shitty neighbourhood, a place with rushing faces and careless eyes where he wouldn't get noticed. He didn't speak to anyone unless absolutely necessary. He knew he was being hunted, but felt a weary safety since he knew they were expecting him to show himself sooner or later.

They were doubting his ability to keep from killing, underestimating his self-control. He would stay put, stay dead quiet, for decades just to prove to them he could.

But one little scientist, one quiet Indian man of no further use to The Company….

_No_, Sylar told himself again, _they'd be watching him, he's connected, he knows, they'd expect it – _

_But maybe_

_Just _

_One_

_Taste?_


	2. Chapter 2 Nameless Presence

**Chapter Two**

**Nameless Presence**

Mohinder fell into bed, his body tired but his mind racing as usual. Even though things had been quiet for months, he still felt incomplete about his place in the drama, his role in destroying the very people he had hoped to save, those with special abilities. He felt guilty and ashamed for helping The Company and using their resources for his own selfish needs. Countless scenarios and conversations played themselves out in his head, a relentless march of evidence of how much he had done wrong…

He was tired of spending days in the lab hitting dead ends, reading the same fragments of his father's research over and over again, and thinking the same thoughts.

As he lay in bed, staring at the barren ceiling, Mohinder had never felt so strong or clear an urge to run away. He knew that it was just exhaustion that was temporarily suspending his need to come to some sort of worthwhile finding in this dusty, careworn laboratory. But the thought of leaving… leaving everything behind to start a new anonymous life filled him with a remarkable sense of freedom and relief that he hadn't felt in years. To not only live a different life, but have a different history, simply be a different person, who wouldn't have to deal with the pain of regret. How that vision made him breathe freer for a moment. But he quickly came down again, back into his dark, repetitive reality.

And as he drifted into a fitful slumber, he dared to think again of escape. His last thought echoed, _If only it was that simple…_

_***_

His sleep was light, tense. The moonlight mixed with streetlight shed an orange gloss on his dark curls. He slept naked, a delicious habit. It was a warm night and his torso lay bare, exposed for any voyeur to enjoy the taste, but want the main course…

It was the first night Sylar had chanced entering the apartment when the good doctor was home. _I'll just watch,_ he told himself,_ the sweeter for the distance_. The slats of the closet didn't give a great angle for viewing the dark restless body on the bed, so he dared to open the closet door ajar and nestle himself in the dark corner amongst winter coats. Even a penetrating glance wouldn't reveal him in this darkness.

The lean frame tossed and turned, unable to find a pleasing position. Sylar watched Mohinder move in his sleep, his body slowly escaping the sheets, too warm and restricting. He was on his side, one leg out, his back towards the silent viewer. His strong shoulders curved inwards as he tried curling up, then a few minutes later, stretching out. How narrow his waist was, the covers revealed as they slipped down, he seemed to have found comfort for a while.

His breathing became more even, and Sylar's arousal was disappointed. It seemed this was the most he would see of the show tonight. As he watched, and counted breaths, Sylar began to feel like a nap himself, eventually getting rather bored and wondering whether to leave a memento behind, when the body stirred.

Mohinder called out "Just impossible… tried that." as he turned abruptly to his other side, facing the closet. Adjusting his position, it seemed the sheets were a lost cause and were promptly kicked to the foot of the bed. His body lay, wholly bare in the dim light, and was peaceful once more.

Sylar's excitement built again in an instant. He was infinitely pleased to rake his eyes over every inch of the dark elegant frame on the bed. But his gaze was quickly frustrated – Mohinder leaned towards him, but away from the light of the window, so the good stuff was cast in total shadow. Not even a strain of the eyes would help the situation. Sylar jokingly considered using a flashlight, but that seemed a bit crass.

Sylar observed. He watched the chest move slightly up and down, heard the heart beating evenly, though not as slow as it should be in slumber… Mohinder was fatigued, and his thoughts weighed heavily on his body as well as his mind. The physique that once held supernatural strength, was thinner and less nourished, although still infinitely pleasing in shape and proportion. There was something reminiscent of classic paintings about how his handsome face held a fleeting restless expression even while asleep.

But the one thing that held it all together, and kept the image gorgeous even in its suffering, was Mohinder's innate grace. It made him beautiful, valuable, worthy of adoration.

Around four in the morning, pre-dawn chill pervaded the room. Sylar knew he had to break away from the mesmerizing sight of Mohinder's sleeping form, while he had the chance to leave inconspicuously. It was suddenly cold and a blanket or two would be nice to wrap up in, he thought as he slowly opened the closet door just wide enough to step out.

As Sylar walked to the door he couldn't resist one last glance at the sleeping form. As he took it in, Mohinder shifted and Sylar's instincts kicked in – raising his hand in case he had to control Mohinder to keep him from screaming, he was ready for a confrontation – although doubt flickered in his mind, he didn't want to ruin this night, but he knew he had to do whatever it would take to keep his existence secret, even if it meant hurting this beautiful man.

But all Mohinder did was shiver and wrap his arms around himself. Sylar watched and relaxed. Knowing this was his perfect chance to leave, he turned and came towards the bed. Gathering the sheets from the floor past the foot of the bed, where they'd laid abandoned for the last few hours, he gently covered Mohinder's body. Sylar let his hand rest on Mohinder's shoulder for a moment as he lay the blankets on. The skin was chilled but as he watched, the goosebumps faded as warmth returned.

Mohinder seemed at ease again in his sleep. Sylar looked down on him, overwhelmed by this deep infatuation, coupled with the appreciation of Mohinder's sweet dark beauty. It felt good to help him, be kind even in the dark where memories faded as soon as they were made.

Sylar chanced a hand on Mohinder's waist, covered in sheets that were already warm. He'd been standing above the bed for a while now. He had to go.

Pre-dawn light made things slightly clearer. Leaning in, Sylar let himself get near to Mohinder's neck, take in his scent, but not to touch, _No_, he told himself, _just go…_

Sylar stood up to leave. He turned towards the door. And, silencing his own apprehensions, he took off his jacket, laying it on the floor. His shoes and socks next, then his shirt, undershirt, jeans, boxers.

He turned back, lifted the blanket very slowly, very gently, and was embraced by the warmth and comfort of the bed where Mohinder slept, having good dreams for the first time in years.

Sylar lay apart for a minute, but couldn't help himself. His arms wrapped around Mohinder, holding him close, his heat so arousing, so intoxicating. Sylar lay his head down, meaning to get up after a few minutes of stolen intimacy, and go.

But as he lay, he forgot all the world outside of that moment. It was perfect, close, real.

And in the sweetness of dawn, he slipped gently into a still, smiling sleep.


	3. Chapter 3 Trapped

Chapter Three

Trapped

Mohinder awoke from a warm, pleasant dream. As his awareness of the early morning stirred, he could still feel the arms of a lover wrapped tenderly around him… it was uncanny how this dream's sensation lingered, even solidified as he felt more awake.

It suddenly dawned on Mohinder that there really was a warm body breathing evenly next to his. In an instant he was completely awake, racking his brain for a second… had he been drunk? Or picked up a random bedfellow in his half-conscious insomniatic state?

Mohinder lay facing his closet and this stranger was lying behind him, body pressed close enough for it to be clear that this stranger was male… his arm draped over Mohinder's waist. Nothing in the room was distorted to his view, and there was no way of telling the identity of this man without turning completely around and almost certainly waking him.

As his mind raced, he couldn't figure it out and fear ran through his veins like ice. He was afraid to move, afraid to wake this anonymous guy in his bed, but he couldn't just lie there forever, and moving was his only chance of getting away before this man – who was obviously some sort of psycho – woke up. Beneath his panicked ambivalence he kept on trying to name this stranger, and a spark of curiosity now intermingled with his decision to stay or try escaping.

After what seemed like a lifetime of indecision, Mohinder shifted very, very slowly, making for his edge of the bed. But he felt his heart stop as the arm tightened around his waist, and a voice whispered in his ear, "Morning, Doctor Suresh. And just where do you think you're going?"

Mohinder knew that voice, but he couldn't believe it. He turned slowly to face his captor.

Sylar.

Mohinder stammered, "Y-you – how…"

"Sssh," Sylar smirked at his bewildered expression, "Now's not the time for asking questions. Go shower, get dressed, and we'll go."

"Wha – but where? What are you doing here – what do you want from me?"

"See now, those are just more questions." Sylar said, as if pointing out some silly quirk, "Now go get ready. Unless, you'd like to spend some more time in bed…" he suggestively leaned in, almost nibbling on Mohinder's neck, expecting him to start and jump out of bed. Surprisingly, Mohinder stayed still just a second longer than Sylar anticipated, and Sylar's lips grazed Mohinder's dark skin.

Mohinder sat up suddenly, feeling a lump in his throat. Trying to ignore the goosebumps on his skin, he threw his legs over the bed, the covers still saving some of his dignity. He looked back at Sylar, who was leaning on his side with an indecipherable look on his face.

"Um," Mohinder felt his face flush, "Do you mind turning around?"

Now looking deeply amused, Sylar asked, "Why?"

"Well, I sleep in the nude so –"

"I know." Sylar said with finality. Mohinder knew from his tone there would be no compromise. He didn't mind showing his body, but this total lack of decorum grated him.

Feeling very, very watched, Mohinder stood and walked to the bathroom. As the door closed, Sylar fell back on the pillows, grinning.

As the hot water ran over his body, Mohinder was still grappling with the idea of Sylar in his bed. He felt an odd mixture of fear and giddiness. Those lips on his neck were nearly enough to make him forget that Sylar was… who he was. Not only a crush in Mohinder's imagination, but in reality, incredibly dangerous, not to mention batshit crazy on top of it.

He knew there was no way of escape from the bathroom – the single window was burglar-barred. And was it worth it to try escaping, even when the chance presented itself? Despite the fact that he'd spent all his free time over the last few months daydreaming that Sylar would show up at his door and proclaim his undying love, there was also the practical problem that with his arsenal of powers and apparent lack of conscience, Sylar was certainly not a man you'd want to aggravate if given the choice.

But to stay? What would that mean? Was Sylar simply toying with him, trying to get information before he killed him, or was this something else? Did Sylar need Mohinder's capacities as a scientist, or as bait to draw someone else out of hiding, probably Peter or Claire?

Or would he simply be a sex slave until Sylar got bored… Mohinder's heart chilled at the very thought of it.

None of the reasons Sylar wanted Mohinder were very appealing, and yet he was surprisingly calm as he got out of the shower. Perhaps it was because he had nothing left to lose, was so weary from the last few months that he hadn't the energy to plan a great escape, but as he went back into the bedroom with a towel around his waist, all he could think of was that he was going to play along.

He just hoped Sylar wouldn't be too horrible to him.


	4. Chapter 4 Reality and Pretend

Chapter Four

Reality and Pretend

As Sylar lay in bed, he thought his plan over and began to have second thoughts about taking Mohinder to his own safe, secluded apartment. In his eagerness to have his new toy to himself he'd forgotten what a risk he was taking to even go near him. It was quite likely the scientist's home was being kept under at least some surveillance by The Company, as he was such a key player in the saga that had only been quieted for a few months. His mind sobering, Sylar began to feel a little squeamish lying between the sheets naked, and imagined having to get dressed in front of Mohinder wasn't quite as appealing as getting _un_dressed in front of him. It was a strangely vulnerable act, getting dressed, accepting the real world again after a night of sweet, stolen closeness.

So he darted out of the warm, sun-drenched bed and collected his clothes from the floor.

He'd just pulled on his charcoal-grey shirt when Mohinder warily emerged from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. After drinking in the sight of his burnt-umber skin and dark curls all glossy from wetness, Sylar's gaze faltered for a moment and his eyes slipped to the floor. "Change of plans," he said, and as he walked to the door he seemed to regain his confidence, "we'll spend the day here and leave tonight."

A mischievous smile played across his face as he casually added, "I'm sure we'll find _some_thing to keep ourselves… busy." With that he left the room, letting Mohinder dress in relative privacy.

Mohinder's mind was a blank. He had expected orders, or maybe to be controlled with Sylar's telekinesis. As he randomly chose clean-ish clothes, Mohinder wondered about Sylar's faltering look… there was something off-kilter, even insecure about how the killer's eyes fell. In a normal, sane world, it would easily be seen as a few seconds of embarrassment for openly checking out a friend.

But, Mohinder reminded himself, Sylar was neither normal nor sane… _it could have been any number of things, _Mohinder thought_, maybe deciding the best way to decapitate me, for all I bloody well know._

Now dressed, he couldn't think of anything else to do except walk out to his lab. As he came through the bedroom door, the smell of coffee wafted through the house like ambrosia, and he realized that Sylar must have made a fresh pot in the kitchen on the other side of the lab. Now officially weirded out, but craving caffeine nonetheless, Mohinder followed the scent and found Sylar at the tiny kitchen table with a cup of coffee in one hand, his elbow resting on the table. He seemed to be arbitrarily gazing through some old newspapers, which were piled high on the second kitchen chair.

Mohinder was sure he was imagining it, but he thought he saw a bit of a start in Sylar's posture when he walked in, and now as he flipped ever so nonchalantly through the papers, he seemed as if he were intentionally trying to look relaxed.

Sylar looked up at him, nodded his head towards the coffee pot and asked "Want some?" genially. Mohinder muttered, "Sure, thanks." without thinking and went to the piled-up sink to wash a mug – then saw a clean one and a teaspoon on the dish rack. Sylar had washed it for him. Taken aback by this thoughtfulness, Mohinder turned to pour himself coffee as Sylar said, "Funny thing, since I took Claire's power my vision's been perfect, but I still feel like I can't read these without my glasses."

Swallowing hard, plagued by an involuntary image of Claire Bennett's raw brain being molested by a power-hungry Sylar, Mohinder mustered an "Oh, really?" and set his coffee atop one of the newspapers. He silently cleared away the pile from the remaining kitchen chair and sat down, suddenly petrified and nauseous. He stared into the hot, dark drink with empty eyes. He tried not to think about what Sylar was actually capable of.

His eyes fixed on his coffee, Mohinder eventually realized he hadn't put sugar in, or perhaps he had, and just didn't remember.

Sylar's voice brought him back to the moment, "What's the matter, Mohinder? Coffee not right?" There was a definite tone of irony in his question, as if he had to point out that the coffee should _surely_ be his biggest concern right now.

Speaking into his cup, Mohinder answered, "I just – um, I didn't put any sugar in." and realized instantly how stupid he sounded. Standing awkwardly and nearly tripping over the pile of newspapers he'd moved from the chair, Mohinder went to the counter again and fished the sugar bowl from between numerous dirty dishes cluttering the surface. He vaguely felt a bit embarrassed about the state of his apartment. His mouth twitched in a desperate smile as he thought his mother would probably pass out if she saw him living like this. His thoughts lingered on his mother. He wondered if he'd ever see her again.

Realizing he'd taken way too long in the simple act of putting sugar in his coffee, Mohinder refocused, and spooned three heaps into his cup. The spoon's clinking as he stirred seemed obscenely loud in the palpable silence, and he noticed that he was holding his breath.

Sylar watched him, feeling amused with a tinge of pity for how helpless the poor Doctor seemed. Yet even in his loose, wrinkled clothes and anxious, awkward state, he was simply a pleasure to look at. His usual warmth and grace, though, were constricted by fear, and that simple fact all but spoiled the view.

He finished off his coffee as Mohinder still stood, apparently frozen, at the counter. Sylar stood and in a few steps was behind him, close enough for Mohinder to feel warm breath on his neck.

Sylar's hands touched on Mohinder's narrow hips for a moment, traced up to his shoulders and began to rub them, his touch gentle but firm. "Why so_ tense_, Mohinder? Ugh, you're all knotted up. You can just relax, I mean, it's not like this is a date or anything…" his sentence dissolved into a deliberate, self-satisfied laugh.

Mohinder felt suddenly boldened by anger at Sylar's smirking tone. He turned so they were face to face, interrupting Sylar's hands at work on his shoulders. Sylar didn't back up so they were still intimately close. Mohinder looked him in the eyes and asked, "Sylar, what is it that you want from me? Why are you here?"

Mohinder's dark, penetrating glare, far from being wholly intimidating, sent heat through Sylar's body, and without a word he leaned in. As their lips barely touched Mohinder drew back, wide-eyed. Noticing this sting, Sylar plunged and pressed his mouth against Mohinder's, first simply as a show of power – but then the warmth came anew and he traced his tongue along the inside of Mohinder's lips, begging entry.

Mohinder, confused, weak-willed, closed his eyes and remembered that lover's body pressed against his in that sweet dream. In a moment he chose to forget everything and let weakness win again.

Resolve breaking, fear melting, heat rising, he let Sylar in and their kiss deepened, intensified as their chemistry was no longer denied. Both lost in the power of this magnetism finally beginning to be satisfied, when they drew apart for air Mohinder found his arms had wrapped around Sylar's neck, drawing him down and locking him close.

Mohinder suddenly realized what happened and, flooded by a sickeningly heavy wash of guilt, broke away and tried to rush out of the kitchen. Sylar grabbed his arm and said "No - no Mohinder please don't go," in an almost pleading tone.

His voice compelled Mohinder to be still and not struggle. That voice held no confidence, no sadistic thrill, no detachment. It was open, vulnerable… tinged with sadness.

Mohinder turned back to look at him. The grip relaxed. It couldn't be, but for a moment, it was…

"…Gabriel?"


	5. Chapter 5 Grey

Chapter Five

Grey

"…Gabriel?" Mohinder had dared to say the name of the man he'd been secretly longing for since their chance meeting years ago.

A momentary flash of recognition touched his face, but then a hard shadow of defensiveness covered his features. He released his grip on Mohinder's arm. "Don't… My name is Sylar, so don't –" he stopped, distracted, as if hearing some sudden noise. Without a word Sylar moved to the kitchen door, looking out, seemingly perplexed. He stepped into the passage leading to the lab…

In a flash, his body crumpled on the floor. Mohinder stared wide-eyed at this incomprehensible collapse. He rushed to Sylar, leaning over his now completely still form. Mohinder drew a hand beneath Sylar's head to cradle him up, but felt wetness. He pulled back and found his hand covered in warm blood. Mohinder looked around wildly, but could see no-one.

Speechless, Mohinder dared to look for the source of the wound… a dagger, precisely thrust to the hilt into the back of Sylar's neck. Mohinder felt his hands shake violently as he began to turn over the lifeless body. He thought he heard a tiny click behind him, but dismissed it until a voice said, "I really wouldn't do that."

Mohinder started and turned towards the voice, and there, where no one had been standing moments before, was a tall, slender man lighting a cigarette. A second click of his lighter gave him a flame and, as he drew in the smoke, he leaned against the wall of the passage, and continued, "It took an awful lot of concentration to get that lovely knife in there. I'd love it if you wouldn't take it out, Doctor."

He seemed completely blasé about the whole situation. He watched Mohinder, dumbfounded, as he searched for words and tried to decide if this was his lucky break or a heartbreaking catastrophe.

Mohinder watched Sylar's face as it paled. A part of him was so relieved to be rid of him, but another part was striving to make a quick tug at the knife and revive Sylar. The ghostly arrival of this man had completely thrown him.

Mohinder looked up at him. He was a young looking, barely beyond college age, the sandy hair falling in his eyes a curious counterweight to the dark, tailored suit he wore. For a moment, Mohinder was reminded of the hippie white kids one would occasionally come across in Chennai, wandering to ashrams looking for enlightenment. He had a cool, striking beauty as his pale grey eyes considered Mohinder without much concern.

Caught in their glassy gaze for a moment, Mohinder asked, "Who are you? How did you…"

"All you need to know is that I'm from The Company." There was a slight lilt to his speech, something Southern, Mohinder couldn't place it. The man went on, "And I'm not really a knife person, I prefer guns myself, they're quicker and less… well, personal. So, pretty please, leave my perfect work alone. Awful sorry I ruined your little late Valentine's day, but I guess you'll just have to find another serial killer to make out with."

"You, um, you saw us?" Mohinder blushed, still on the floor next to Sylar's body. Then, remembering the cramped and shaded kitchen, wondered, "But how?"

The man smiled and let his cigarette ash fall to the floor as he came to lean over the body, opposite Mohinder. His cool gaze fell on the pool of blood coming from the neck, as he answered, "How? Don't worry your pretty little head about it. The bottom line is that he's dead now, for the time being at least, and you're free to move on with your day with no further fear of getting your skull sliced."

Mohinder's mind began to kick into analytical mode again, "You have an ability, then? What is it, invisibility?"

"Haha! Not just a pretty face, I see, Doctor. You're close. I can dematerialize, which is far better than run-of-the-mill invisibility… I can convert my body mass into energy. Basically, disappear into thin air, and still be present and conscious of my physical surroundings without myself, in actual fact, being physical. It's awful nifty for catching people off guard." He gave a wicked smile as he glanced towards Sylar's body and back at Mohinder.

Mohinder couldn't believe that he'd felt himself stir under that wicked smile, those striking eyes. His face flushed in shame but he couldn't help asking, "What's your name?"

Raising himself up again, the tall stranger took a long drag of his cigarette. The smoke wafted around him as he looked out towards the dusty lab, bathed in sunlight, turned away from Mohinder completely. "Jeremiah Blake." he said gently.

A rush of awareness hit Mohinder, that for a moment he had a chance to save Sylar. His mind almost crashing with conflicting thoughts, he said in what he hoped was a careless manner, "Blake, like the poet…" watching carefully if he'd turn around.

He didn't. He began to say something, but Mohinder only vaguely registered his words, his mind racing.

In a surge of emotion, rebellion, irrational loyalty, or something stronger, being pushed by the hand of destiny perhaps, Mohinder swiftly pulled the knife out of Sylar's neck.

"Clean up agents should have been here by now, looks like they've gotten lazy in the last few months." Blake said casually. Mohinder gave a hazy "Yes, indeed." And watched, holding his breath, to see if Sylar would wake up.

The gaping wound began miraculously stitching itself up almost instantly. Sylar's eyelids began to flutter and in a matter of precious, drawn out seconds he was conscious.

Blake dropped his cigarette butt on the floor and stepped on it. He seemed completely sure that Mohinder posed no threat to him as he continued to gaze out to the sun-drenched lab, still and distant, as if staying were simply a formality.

Mohinder was struck by the horror of what he'd done when a black look descended on Sylar's face. He'd remembered his sudden slaying and was ready to take revenge. His eyes darted to Mohinder's, there was a numbed sense of meaning in them that Mohinder's overwhelming anxiety wouldn't let him register. In a flash Sylar was on his feet and, with a nominal movement of his hand, Blake's body flew across the lab and crashed into the opposite wall.

Sylar telekinetically dragged Blake back up from the floor and pinned him against the wall. Mohinder watched, horrified as Blake's forehead began to drip blood…

A crash boomed on the other side of the apartment, at the front door, and suddenly an intense fiery pain flooded Mohinder's body, crashing back and forth from his right arm. He grabbed it and fell, as a dozen or more gun-wielding agents ran past him, almost trampling him. He watched Sylar turn to him, dropping his concentration on Blake, who dropped from the wall but never hit the floor. He seemed to disintegrate into dust which dissolved into thin air.

Sylar fought off the other agents without breaking a sweat. Soon he was by Mohinder's side, wrapping a tourniquet around his arm...

"Why did they shoot me?" Mohinder asked in a helpless, almost childlike tone, drowsy and desperate from the pain.

"I… I don't know, Mohinder." was the shaky reply.


	6. Chapter 6 Sweet Ambivalence

Chapter Six

Sweet Ambivalence 

Sylar's dark eyes flitted between Mohinder's still bleeding arm, and his indecipherable expression, something that hovered behind and between exhaustion, fear, hopeless acceptance of the pain.

Sylar knew he had to leave him behind. There was no other way.

No other way to save himself.

What should have been an easy decision felt like it was violently ripping apart any sense of order Sylar had. The aspect of himself that he'd gotten so good at silencing suddenly raged against his decision.

_Oh well, a few day's hot cat-and-mouse fun ruined by circumstance. Ditch him before more agents arrive. _

_// No, I won't leave him – _

_Call an ambulance to come get him if you have to. Just go._

_// He's what I came for – _

_He won't be much use to you now. Dead weight. Hell, put him out of his misery and things will be a lot cleaner._

_// I could never – _

_There are plenty of things __you__ could never do. That's why you have me. We're leaving. _

He stood and let Mohinder lay, horribly still, on the floor of the lab, surrounded by the anonymous bodies of agents whose fate had put them on the wrong side of Sylar.

As he turned away he felt horribly aware of Mohinder watching him, confused. Though he'd made up his mind, each step felt leaden.

_There's no other way._

"Sylar – please, please don't leave me here…" Mohinder said weakly.

Why were those words so powerful? Why did they stop his heart and wrench all reason from his mind?

***

Yes, he was graceful, exotic, and beautiful. But there was something far beyond the alluring darkness and sweetness of his presence that drew Sylar in. It was the ethereal promise of sanctuary.

Sanctuary. A safe, warm space… away from the thrill and horror of the hunger. The hunt for power had brought him to a more profound emptiness, a spiritual fatigue that was amplified by impending immortality. A way to escape, for an intimate moment, his own exciting, grotesque alter ego and return, for an instant, to Gabriel. Or what was left of him, at least. Back to boring sanity.

Humanity, no longer marred by loneliness.

It was too much, he'd told himself, too much for one man to live up to. Mohinder was only a person, after all, and people always let you down.

He'd let himself down. Given into this ridiculous fantasy. How weak.

The moment The Company took over, and it became apparent that his usual exploits would be far too risky to try in the foreseeable future… the image of Mohinder, cherished by the quiet inner self, began to dominate his thoughts. It was easier to tell the famished dark monster that this could be his new obsession. That soft-spoken scientist, who had appeared so harmless – and had so perfectly dominated him once before – was begging for his own domination. And it would be a fiercely manipulative sexual revenge.

This retribution fantasy was just another manifestation of the all-encompassing drive to own and control his world. And yet, all his attempts to soothe that devastating sense of incompletion through bloodshed, had ultimately failed… its temporary thrill came at the cost of expanding the horrifying void in his own soul, this vast abyss that separated him from the rest of humanity. But the hunger to conquer the other, a life smaller than his own, was now starving from its fast in the name of self-preservation.

In its starvation, it was angry, powerful and easily embittered. The hunger itself had to be managed, like a wild animal, within the consciousness of the man who had created it. And in his greater, silent wish to overcome it, if only for an instant of relief from its staggering weight on his soul, he made it believe that Mohinder would be its next prey, rather than his momentary salvation.

That urge to dominate may have given him permission to pursue this desire, but ultimately, it was just a illusory power game covering a far simpler and more fundamental craving.

Call it companionship, intimacy, or love… the opposite of aching, omnipresent loneliness is what he hoped to find in Mohinder.

***

The possibility of sanctuary was too tempting for his damaged soul.

_// I have to save him. There's no other way._

* * *

**Author's Note: Just a huge thank-you to all my readers and reviewers! Y'all are my sunshine :)**

**In case anyone was confused by my formatting, the plain **_**italics**_** are the 'Sylar' voice and the **_**//italics**_** are the 'Gabriel' voice, representing either aspect of his personality. I love crazy characters, but multiple internal voices are tricky to represent, so I hope you, my precious readers, got it!**


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